


The Ghost of You

by Meduseld



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Allusions to Ramsay awfulness but nothing explicit, Canon-Typical Violence, F/F, F/M, Forced Marriage, Lesbian Character, Longing, Memories, all off screen, which is canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-03
Updated: 2018-06-03
Packaged: 2019-05-17 21:48:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14839766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meduseld/pseuds/Meduseld
Summary: Everything has been taken from Jeyne but her memories. They're enough to survive on.





	The Ghost of You

**Author's Note:**

> Written all the way back in February of 2013, [for this prompt](https://asoiafkinkmeme.livejournal.com/7940.html?thread=4910084#t4910084), I finally put this up here. Original author's note found below.

He marries her in the godswood, where she played for as long as she could remember, chasing and climbing and laughing, and it is all she can do not to be sick at the sight of the ghosts she can see amongst the trees. She slips in the snow and her hand flails out, catches on rough bark and

_Jeyne's hands close on the bark behind her back, eyes locked on Sansa’s as she crowds her into the tree. She doesn’t feel trapped. Sansa is grinning, says "what would you do if I kissed you, right now?" Jeyne's hands hurt from where she's gripping the tree as hard as she can, trying to stop herself from reaching forward and grabbing. "Kiss back" she says, breathless, and Sansa closes in._

She finds the strength to stand. As Arya, she stays stone still while Ramsay slips a pink cloak around her, avoiding those awful eyes. There is no laughter, no smiles, nowhere to run.

* * *

 

He rips her shirt open, stares at her breasts. He licks his wormy lips, and she tries not to shudder, to give him an excuse. She can see his hardness, the member he calls his sharpest knife and uses as such. He runs a cruel finger down the left one and says

_"You have a freckle" Sansa breathes, hand softly cupping her. "Right there" she punctuates with her thumb running over the little brown spot, lower lip caught between her teeth. Jeyne kisses her, swiftly like she’s stealing because she still feels like she is. "I like it" Sansa whispers, hand squeezing softly. "Only I know it’s there". Jeyne kisses her harder._

"I don’t like freckles" and reaches for a knife. She closes her eyes against the sting of his hand in her hair and prepares to scream. She has learned the hard way that he wants her to, won’t hurt her as badly if she does.

* * *

  
Theo-  _Reek_  won’t look her in the eye. He won’t look anyone in the eye anymore. Not that anybody really sees Jeyne in this warped Winterfell. She’s a false mirror of Arya to be pitied, a plaything, or nothing at all. She does not take it as a good sign that she prays to be nothing as often as possible. She prays for a lot of things. In the doorway he looks up briefly and

_Sansa and Jeyne watch the boys train, giggling behind their hands. Though Jeyne sneaks looks at Jon Snow, she doesn’t mention it because it bothers Sansa. Instead they talk about Robb and Theon, Jeyne flushing pink at the strength in Robb's arms. Sansa prefers Theon, drawling comments about fingers and dissolving them both into giggles again. "It’s his eyes" Sansa says, "so dark". Jeyne prefers blue eyes and says so, and Sansa giggles again. "Well Theon only has the second best pair of eyes in Winterfell anyway". When Jeyne asks who has the best eyes, Sansa cups Jeyne's face, rubs her thumb over Jeyne's lower lip. She leans forward and the boys fly out of their minds_

His eyes flit firmly back to the floor; throat working like he's just made a terrible mistake, one he will be punished for. Ramsay doesn’t like his pets looking him in the eye. "Your lord husband sends for you" he whispers and Jeyne trembles.

* * *

 

One night, as jape, Ramsay says, voice slurring with wine, all his bitches should be together and puts Jeyne in with his hounds. She cringes in the corner, making herself as small as she can, as the dogs strain against their chains, the sounds of their barking and Ramsay’s laughter impossibly loud. He leaves after a while, stumbling, of the find some other girl to harm. She hopes, for her sake, that he's not so drunk his member sleeps, or he will make up the difference.

For a long time there is no thought in her head but the snarling, the flashing teeth. She doesn’t like dogs much, had only loved Lady who was not a dog at all, and gone too soon. She digs her nails into the stones and

_Sansa's nails dig into her arm, eyes wide at Old Nan's frightening story. Sansa's other hand is locked with Jeyne's and they both hold their breath. Their eyes flit to each other and they half grin half grimace before turning back to Old Nan, somehow leaning both forwards and back. A knot pops in the fire and Sansa shrieks, flattening herself against Jeyne, who feels a little guilty at how good it feels to be strong for her, to hold her so closely in public. The boys laugh and Sansa blushes, hiding her hot face in Jeyne's neck. Heat pools low inside her as she considers what will happen later, when no one will think twice about two scared girls sharing a bed for the night._

The rocks scrape her finger, and she pops it in her mouth, oddly comforted. She closes her eyes and tries to remember how Sansa's body felt pressed against hers, the way she breathed in the night. The taste of her skin. The sunrise surprises her when it comes.

 

* * *

 

Jeyne lies awake at night, staring at the wall, because her back is so wounded she can only lie on her side. The darkness has never felt so sinister, and she is glad that Ramsay is not, for once, sleeping beside her. She doesn’t want to think about what he might be doing. In the meager light she can make out the pink cloak of House Bolton nearby and wishes she could turn over, look away from it. Her eyes prickle as she remembers

_A grubby tablecloth, stolen by Jeyne and Sansa to play the same game played by little girls in the all the kingdoms. They take turns putting the cloak around each other’s shoulders, making up the vows, eating pretend cakes and dancing, lying next to each other on the grass at the end, because they were too young to know what happened during the bedding._

_But the real fun of the game was the pretending, picking up the ratty cloth and declaring: this time it’s red for Lannister; gold for Baratheon; green for Tyrell; orange for Martell. Even once, daringly, black for Greyjoy. Once, Jeyne had been brave enough to put it around Sansa's shoulders and say "white for Poole", blushing harder than she had in her entire life, even though they had been too young then to even think of kisses._

_She doesn’t know what happened to that tablecloth, Lady Stark had probably decided that it was too ragged or that they were too old for it or both, and thrown it away. But then, only a few moons before Jon Arryn died, she and Sansa had been walking the grounds when Sansa had remembered their old game. As a jape, Jeyne had slid her own cloak off her shoulders, and let Sansa wrap her own around her. "What color is it this time?" Jeyne had whispered at the look in Sansa’s eyes. "Grey. For Stark". Jeyne kisses her as deeply as she can then presses her lips against Sansa's ear and says "It’s all I’ve ever wanted". Sansa's arms tighten around her._

Jeyne hasn't noticed she's started to cry, or that she's making any noise at all. She feels like a ghost, a walking corpse. She feels the way Reek looks. Several rooms away, her husband sleeps soundly by a disconsolate serving girl, oblivious to the sobs. But outside, at the weeping of Arya Stark, hands tighten on their swords.

**Author's Note:**

> Apologies for the cheesy title, general Ramsay awfulness and the fact that the “cloak” part is probably not very accurate. It figures that my contribution to Femslash February would be so grim.


End file.
